Healing
by exiled mind
Summary: After suffering his injuries at the hands of the Romulans, Christopher Pike has a long road to travel towards recovery. He's never backed down from a battle before and doesn't plan to start now. Also? Leonard proves to be a pretty good incentive.


Warnings: Discussion of spinal injury and recovery with a focus on sexual function  
Notes: I am nervous and would love to hear your thoughts on this story. Also, if you catch errors/problems, please feel free to point them out and help me improve it.

* * *

Constant exhaustion and pain fed each other, leaving little energy or time to focus on things other than the immediate need for pain relief and a patch of sleep uninterrupted by reportedly well-meaning medical and nursing staff wanting one more scan or vial of blood, regardless of the hour.

* * *

Chris was curious, but afraid, a fact that he would only admit to himself. The topic had been broached by his medical team several times, and information-filled PADDs offered and left at his bedside. The information was... troubling.

_Most patients with a spinal cord injury experience some level of sexual dysfunction, the severity of which depends on the level and category of the injury, the time since its occurrence, treatment methods employed, and individual physiological and psychological __attributes__._

_Though scientific advances have assisted some patients in making total and near-total recovery in all areas of functioning, including sexual, others experience persistent dysfunction requiring intervention or readjustment of expectations. These can include..._

He wanted to test himself, see what kind of responses he could draw from his own body, but was afraid of what it would mean if he got no reaction. There were many reasons not to try yet - lingering fatigue and pain interfering with his attempt, intrusive flashbacks that sprung up on him with little warning, the ever-present risk of discovery by a passing nurse or visitor – and he accepted such excuses with a mixture of gratitude and resentment.

So he turned his head to the side and determinedly didn't touch himself in any way his body might construe as pleasurable and he ruthlessly squashed any stray lustful thoughts. After reading sections of the informational brochures it wasn't difficult, thanks to words like ″reflex erections,″ ″psychogenic erections,″ and ″dysfunction″ haunting his thoughts in all their cold, scientific glory.

* * *

Physical therapy was a bitch. The finally-fading pain from his injury was forcibly invited back on a daily basis with each session with his eminently practical and thoroughly merciless therapists. Chris hated them. Deeply. He also wanted to kiss them with every single milestone he reached towards independence.

They were damn effective in getting him functional enough to leave the hospital, and he did it in near-record time.

* * *

Sometimes, Chris couldn't feel much of anything. Other times he did have sensation, but it wasn't what he expected, what he remembered. Yet other times it felt sort of like his memories of physical arousal tied to mental arousal, but it didn't last long. His body didn't heal in a linear progression, and he felt like he could never figure out what to expect of himself.

* * *

The first morning Chris woke up with wood he nearly cried. It didn't last long, he could barely feel the sensation as he touched himself, only feeling a dulled sense of pressure and tingling, and he didn't come anywhere near orgasm before it faded. Still, once past his initial frustration, and then after accepting the anger associated with the final, hard realization that there would be no magical fix, he finally allowed himself to entertain the thought that at least there was _some_ hope for the future of his sex life.

* * *

The treatment of spinal injuries was tricky even now, in the twenty-third century. Some aspects of healing could be helped along – or even forced along – with surgeries, treatments, therapies, and medicines, while other parts had to be left for the body to tackle on its own.

Though the strictly physical damage done by the slug could be healed – albeit slowly and painfully – the nerves had to be retrained, pathways reforged, and the brain retaught to interpret them correctly, and that was assuming a fully successful recovery.

It was slow and frustrating and left Chris with good days, bad days, and fucking _terrible_ days.

When sensation began to return it was not reliable, nor was it what he expected. Tingling and prickling along and under his skin didn't bother him so much as sensations not _feeling_ right. A tickle behind the knee felt like a painful shock and the tines of a fork pressed to his skin felt dull rather than sharp. Having his mind expecting one thing but feeling something different was disconcerting.

There were times when sensations were greater on one side or he was tingling and numb for hours or days at a time, returning him to the feelings of hopelessness and fear that had plagued him so often in those dark days in the hospital.

Despite this, he progressed. Slowly, but definitely, he began to learn and relearn what his body could do and interpret as the days, treatments, and therapy sessions continued.

* * *

The first time Chris tried to jerk off was actually a relief. He didn't come, but he did feel a vaguely familiar, pleasurable tightening sensation in his abdomen, that telltale pressure and need to squirm and shift position. His fingers were extremely sensitive across his body, and he responded to his own stimulation of his nipples and chest far more than he remembered doing so in the past.

He came for the first time using a stimulation aid suggested in one of the articles on the much-hated and yet much-referenced PADD given to him back in the hospital. Fancy-ass name for a sex toy, but dry medical texts had a habit of taking as much emotion out of the information offered as possible.

It bordered closer to painful than any orgasm he'd ever felt before, and he didn't produce much semen to speak of, but it still felt like paradise. Whether it was in his body, his mind, or intermingled, he didn't fucking care.

* * *

Sex with a partner was... a whole new challenge.

Deciding on getting ″back in the saddle″ with a doctor was... either the best or the worst decision of his life. On the one hand, Leonard already knew, scientifically, at least, the challenges they were facing, and yet still chose to accept them. On the other hand... he was Chris' freaking former physician, for crying out loud. He was also overprotective, infuriatingly understanding about what Chris considered frustrating and humiliating experimentation, and was a goddamn walking textbook.

Leonard had an annoying lack of embarrassment when it came to discussions about sex, spent an inordinate amount of time focusing on foreplay – well, Leonard called it foreplay, Chris called ″driving him fucking nuts″ - and, in complete contrast with Chris' initial approach to their sex-life, seemed to enter into it with no particular expectations of how, precisely, it would go. Chris both loved him for his frank and unflinching willingness to talk about all manner of concerns, and hated him for the same.

It was also a lot of fun. Leonard also made the most amazing sounds when he was on the receiving end of a blowjob, for example, and Chris wasn't at all ashamed of the power his oral skills gave him over the good doctor. Bringing his partner to orgasm even without experiencing one of his own was uniquely satisfying, and he experienced that pleasure with pride.

* * *

Spontaneity was more difficult than it used to be since he couldn't be sure whether, on any given day, he would be able to go along with any spur of the moment plans and the safer assistive drugs took time to take effect.

Wanting to seize the moment when his body was tired from a therapy session or aching from a treatment, or just plain not up for what he was asking of it that day still felt like a blow.

Chris had woken one morning to the feel of Leonard's body stretched warm alongside his and an arm draped across his chest. He stared over at the face of his sleeping lover and desperately i_wanted_/i him. He wanted to wake him with kisses and soft caresses, progressing to more determined movements and thrusts, and spend the morning blissed out and entwined, minds befuddled with orgasm and each other.

But he couldn't reach that on his own, not that day, at least. He could have tried the hypo, or the oral meds, or refocused his ardor into other sex acts and on drawing out other ways of finding a release, but he wanted simple _fucking_ and his _old life_ and for things to not be so goddamn hard every time he just wanted to fucking get off.

He left their bed early, barely waking Leonard with his now-smooth departure and spent the morning in his office ignoring the outside world. He repeatedly evaded questions from Leonard and was pissed when at first the other man accepted his reticence and then pissed again later when Leonard pressed for a response. Chris snapped at him with brutal, snide words, and could barely keep himself from striking out.

Leonard stood there silently, watching him with his fists balled tightly at his sides. Chris wasn't sure if Leonard was angry for the outburst or if he was angry at his own helplessness at fixing the situation. If it was the first, then good, damnit; Chris preferred to be on the receiving end of seething anger instead of pity. If it was the second, well, in that case Chris could understand... he felt fucking helpless sometimes too.

″I wish I could help, Chris. I wish I could fix everything, all at once. But I can't. I just fucking can't do a damn thing.″ Leonard voice was soft and broken, and his eyes were sad as they met Chris'.

In the end, Chris knew that he was really the only one who could fight this battle, had known that from his first therapy session on. He could, and did, accept support in the process, but he was the one doing the day in, day out _living_.

″You don't need to fix me, Leonard.″ Chris sighed, and held out his hand. ″But I'm glad you're here anyways.″

* * *

They sat together on the gently sloped roof of the house watching the distant fireworks light up the sky overhead with bright blues, purples, and reds. After hovering over him as Chris maneuvered his way carefully but independently through the second-story window and onto the roof, Leonard joined him there, heroically restraining his more acerbic comments regarding Chris' preferred celebration vantage point.

Leonard sat with his back against the side of the house and his legs pressing tightly in against Chris' body. Chris sat between his legs and reclined against Leonard, his own body rising and falling gently with Leonard's breaths. Chris would probably complain more about the position were it not for the very natural way that Leonard fell into the protective role, as well as for the shivery-good feelings that swept up and down his spine with each scritch of Leonard's fingers through his hair and across his scalp.

So instead of bitching and pulling away, Chris instead found himself relaxing further against the other man's chest and just enjoying the near-sinful feel of Leonard's caresses, the rise of his chest under Chris' back, and the growing pressure of his erection against Chris' ass.

Leonard didn't acknowledge his obvious and growing interest, however, instead focusing his attentions solely on Chris' massage. Firm, kneading strokes that worked out spots of tension in his shoulders alternated with a softer caress across the nape and through his hair that left Chris' skin sensitive and shivery in the wake of Leonard's fingers. After several more minutes of this and as the fireworks display rose towards its crescendo, Chris decided it was time for a little more encouragement. He squirmed, deliberately pressing back against Leonard teasingly, and he couldn't resist a chuckle at the doctor's soft groan. That, of course, earned him a pinch in response and Leonard growled directly in his ear, close enough for Chris to hear every rumbling promise of revenge.

Chris kept laughing and pressed backwards into Leonard, offering a few suggestions of his own in return. The warmth of Leonard's body and the sounds of his harsh breathing and low tone roused Chris' creativity and Leonard's disinclination to give up control prodded Chris' sense of competition. Wandering hands stroked, tweaked, and teased each other wherever they could reach, each attempting to drive the other to distraction.

Finally, Leonard clamped an arm around Chris' chest and clasped them firmly together. When he pressed his lips to Chris' neck and sucked hard Chris' laughter broke off in a choked gasp as heat shot through him. The sucking changed to nuzzling and Leonard's free hand crept down along Chris' body, searching for the clasp to Chris' slacks and when he finally it found Chris did his best to help maneuver the now-restrictive garment off despite Leonard's refusal to release the arm from around his chest.

Impatient, Chris growled, ″Leonard, just let me-″ And then Leonard finally took Chris' dick in a large, warm hand and gave several firm tugs, cutting off Chris' powers of speech entirely. Leonard then teasingly encircled the head and just maintained light pressure for several seconds as Chris thrust his hips up frantically trying to regain more contact. ″Bastard.″

Leonard's only answer was a chuckle before he once again clamped his lips against Chris' neck. Ever the strategist, Chris decided to change tactics, grinding his ass back against Leonard's groin. Leonard stiffened and broke away from Chris' neck with a long, low groan. His concentration shattered, this time when Chris arched up Leonard's hand reflexively closed around Chris cock and stroked, finally offering the pressure Chris demanded.

″You don't give up, do you?″ Though his voice was chiding, Leonard's hand didn't pause its rhythm.

Chris was panting now, fighting a losing battle against overwhelming sensation but unwilling to surrender the last word. ″Never.″

* * *

It would never be the same as it was before, and Chris would always know it. But it was good enough most of the time, and when it wasn't, Leonard was still there, ready and willing to try again.

And sometimes it was fucking fantastic in a brand-new way.


End file.
